


thirty pieces of silver

by TheVeryLastValkyrie



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: But There's Light at the End of the Tunnel for Lovers, Consensual Kissing, F/M, Forced Orgasm, Mutual Non-Con, Power Imbalance, SO MUCH DARKNESS, Sexual Punishment, Unintentional Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-18
Updated: 2016-01-18
Packaged: 2018-05-14 15:53:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5749090
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheVeryLastValkyrie/pseuds/TheVeryLastValkyrie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A corrupted Rey is sent by Snoke to punish Kylo in the most human way possible. She takes away his choice, but he gives her her humanity.</p>
            </blockquote>





	thirty pieces of silver

I’ve learnt about weakness – his weakness, specifically. The Supreme Leader has taught me all I need to know, but some of it I already knew. Some of it I’d already gotten from him, from the way he hesitated. I should be dead. He should’ve killed me during one of the long pauses I left when I was untrained, when I, like him, was afraid. His weakness is natural as Solo’s son, as Skywalker’s heir. He deserves the punishment Supreme Leader Snoke has chosen. I’m honoured to be carrying it out.

Kylo Ren has his arms bound to two parallel uprights and his knees drawn halfway up to his chest. He sits on the floor in the coldest part of the docking bay, which is silent and empty but which is supposed to grate on him because it _is_ so big, and so empty, and so cold, and no one cares that he’s there. I feel him want his mask, so I take mine off. I push the hood back on my head, ignoring how it snags on my hair. I’m not hesitating, not exactly. I know what I have to do.

“You’re pathetic.”

He is looking at me, but through me, expressionless. I feel the ache in his arms from having them up above his head for so long.

“He always said he’d get you in the end.”

“Shut up.” Only I speak. The only way I can do what I have to do is if only I speak.

The mask makes a hard sound when it hits the floor. The cloak makes no sound at all. I crouch down slowly, my eyes locked with his, which are brown like his mother’s. I like that. I like that I don’t have to think about Han Solo, until a muscle in his cheek jumps, and I remember something which is a struggle to make myself forget again. “You’re weak,” I say. I’m cold too, but I unwind the strips of dark cloth around my lower arms. They were too tight. My skin shows pink and white stripes when they come off. “Like your father, like your mother, one more in a long line of disappointments.” I undo the belt which holds my blaster, my saber, and his gaze flicks to it almost too quickly for me to catch. “But how much are you like them?” I ask. My throat is dry, and I have to work up some saliva before I can take off my tunic. I didn’t bother with anything underneath. Gooseflesh rises up all over me, everywhere, on everything. He can see _everything_.

“This?” I gesture down at myself, at the pinker tips of my breasts standing out in the cold. My ribs are below them, and they seem so neat suddenly, so well-positioned. I’ve never really noticed them before. I’m compact, but I’m powerful. I grip his chin, not with the Force but with my fingers. I want to feel the heat, the roughness. I want him to feel that I’m real. “This is the only reason you exist, Ben Solo. Weakness. Feeling. Pathetic lust.”

“Rey –” he begins, but I finish the sentence for him by hitting him hard across the mouth. His lower lips puffs up in seconds, and I sit back slightly to start on my leggings while he spits blood onto the floor, spattering the visor of my mask.

“The Supreme Leader believes this is the best way – the only way –” I inform him. “To show you your place in his new world. You’re not a Knight of Ren, you’re not even a Jedi Knight. You’re a Corellian Alderaanian half-breed. You’re _nothing_.” Who breathes faster as I lean closer, then close my eyes as I kiss him. I don’t know if he keeps his open. I kiss him, obeying an order, and I press my bare chest against the light shirt that can’t be keeping him warm, not exposed as he is. His mouth stays tightly shut, and his eyelids are pressed tightly together when I pull away. I don’t feel anything, no power, no fear, no exhilaration. I don’t think I’ll feel anything at all, not until my task is complete.

“You’re no one.” I let down my hair, letting it sweep his face as it does mine. He turns his head a tiny amount, and I wonder if there was ever anyone else, any other girl’s hair. I wonder why he wants me. I’m willing to exploit the fact that he does to serve our cause, but I don’t understand it. It’s just hair. It’s just flesh, or it will be. It’s just a gentle tap on the inside of my skull reminding me that he can hear me, but I can hear him too. Right now, he’s dredging up pictures of the girl from Jakku: the scavenger, the weak one. Me before I was me, before I understood power. Power keeps you safe. Power keeps them away, the them who’d want to take what you want away. He even remembers the way she smells, like mild green plants and sweat. She loved all that green.

I don’t know if I still do.

He groans softly when I pull the thin slacks down his legs, not bothering with shirt or boots. I was expecting more – more resistance, more cloth maybe – but there’s nothing but his pale, muscled thighs and his cock, hard and obscene and standing to attention because that’s what I’ve been told to do, to get his attention, to get it the way the princess must’ve gotten the pilot’s attention. I’m not scared to touch it. I’m not. I wrap my hand around it, around the hot, stretched skin. He grunts, and his hips jerk slightly, welcoming my squeeze, and some part of me wants to let go, to let _him_ go, but we can’t.

We don’t have a choice.

“You’re an animal, aren’t you?” The hand not on his cock, I lay along the side of his neck, where the veins are standing out like cords. His pulse pounds life into my palm. “There isn’t anything special about you.” My throat is dry again. It takes longer to wet it this time around than it did before. “You’re just an animal.”

I’m honoured to be the one to carry out Kylo Ren’s punishment.

I told the Supreme Leader I was.

I tell myself I am.

There’s nothing to be scared of.

My instinct is to straddle his lap, and now he kisses me back. His tongue has more practice than mine, and when it flickers against my tongue, something flickers inside me too. The freezing cold and the echoing silence in the bay are making me shake, though, so this needs to be over. I need it to end. He must share my shiver, because he draws his knees up further, pressing me closer, and I can’t take that. That act of near kindness disgusts me, that _weakness_ , and I drive myself viciously down onto his cock, and he clenches his teeth, and a small, sharp sound of pain comes out of me that I’d already decided wasn’t going to escape. The faster I go, the faster it’ll be over. I won’t be invaded, vulnerable, not myself in my own body. I’ll be myself, and not him too.

He’s looking at me again, those eyes scorching and sad.

“You don’t want this, Rey.”

“But you do.”

He has no choice but to go at my speed, which helps control the pain if nothing else. It hurts too much not to move. Moving hurts too. I go slowly, and I get wetter, and it becomes a little easier. I turn my head away as if we’re strangers, but I thrust my body towards him, the body he wants, and he bucks into me without meaning to. He goes deeper and I tingle. It hurts. It gets faster. “You’re nothing,” I insist. It gets faster. “You’re no one.” But everything happens more slowly in my head, because I’m seeing what he’s seeing. He’s examining my skin, the pocks and freckles and wrinkles in it; he’s aware he’s being punished, and he’s trying not to be into it, but how could he not be? That’s why it’s his punishment, because it’s what he wanted. I’m proof that he wanted more than power, more than legions of Stormtroopers and the smouldering remains of consoles when he vented his temper that way. He’s determined to ignore the tight, slippery hold I have on him, the colour of my hair, the shape of my collarbones and my neck and my chin. His hands want to hold me, to hold me down. He’d like to put his arms around me, but this isn’t real for him, no matter what I do. It’s Snoke. It’s dark.

But it is real for me.

We’re climbing, my fingernails digging into the fabric covering his shoulders. I’m sweating and afraid and alive, but I can’t seem to stop shaking my head, refusing to admit I know what’s coming. “No,” says someone far away. “Don’t let me.”

“Rey.”

“No.” Again, to drown him out, to drown out our feelings, his and mine. “Don’t let me.”

“Rey.”

“No.” Again, to drown out the sound of him in my head, to tune him out. “Don’t let me.”

“Rey, stop –”

“ _No_.” Again, to flood my body with ice, to put out the fire that’s rising up in me, and over me, and burning it out of me, that thing I had before, that conviction I had before that everything would be alright because the Supreme Leader said it would be, that I was honoured to carry out this punishment, that this could’ve been any nothing, any no one, that doing it would mean I wasn’t alone –

“ _Stop_.” His damp forehead is against mine, pushing back, fighting me. His restraints have been cutting into him for hours, but the useless strength of his arms and legs flows through his mind like water. His voice has the heaviness of influence from the Force, but because I can hear it, I’m immune to it. I’m immune to everything. I’m strong, I know I am. I can be strong.

I won’t leave the cell with the door open.

 _Don’t let me_ is what I mean to say, but instead of speaking, I explode like a supernova. Fragments of the safe little planet inside me where I’ve lived my whole life, my soul, my centre, fly into him and into the air and into nothingness. I splinter. I ride high on a wave of pure white light, but I fall back down too quickly, and the light is still with me, and nothing will ever be alright again. Burning tears well, spill, slide down my cheeks. I bite my lip, but noises come out either side of my front teeth. They’re quiet noises, like an animal in pain. I’m the animal now. I’m the one who’s disgusting. Where’s a corner I can hide in? Nowhere in this enormous docking bay, which was supposed to oppress Kylo Ren, not me. A keening sound slips out, disgusting, pathetic. I cram my fist into my mouth, cutting my knuckles, tasting blood. I’m the animal now. I’m the one licking my wounds. I’m the animal now, I’m the animal now, I’m the only animal now.

 _Rey_. A gentle tap on the inside of my skull.

 _No_.

 _Rey_. The tip of his nose, nudging up my cheek until his lips are next to my ear, smudging a tear and its trail. _I can help you_.

 _No one can help me_.

“I’m no one,” he whispers aloud, but it’s louder than anything else in all that empty space. “I’m nothing. I can help. With all of it. I’ll help you.”

With the ache in my body. With the ache in my soul.

 _But I hurt you too_.

He’s not hesitant, not exactly. He’s careful. He’s careful with _me_. He turns his head an infinitesimal amount, his black hair longer than I’m used to, hollows under his cheeks from starvation. Without exerting any pressure, his lips graze mine. He purses them, and I do too; we kiss. We taste my tears, and Ben Solo kisses me very sweetly, very softly, very kindly. I’m so tired. I’m so sore. I’m so _cold_. I have to get off him, because I’ll never heal if I don’t, but I don’t trust myself to heal from what I’ve just done to him if I do.

“I’ll help you,” he repeats. “I’ll help you find a way back. I promise. I promise you, Rey.” Our faces are pressed together all the way down their lengths, though my chin stops short of his. He’s taller and stronger than me, older. He could’ve fought me if he’d been free. He would’ve fought me, I know it. He wanted me, but not this. “You can come back.”

There’s light shining out of him so brightly now that the pieces of me still rattling around inside myself pierce my heart, or what’s left to beat or break. I’m bleeding in there and he’s bleeding out here, from his slapped, sucked lower lip.

“It hurts,” I tell him. “Everything hurts so much.”

“I know.” He uses his knees to gather me against him again. We come apart without a word. Now he sets the rhythm: sexless, ageless, rocking me from side-to-side like a baby in a cradle, giving and promising me things which might destroy us both.


End file.
